


Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

by Akonite



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Baby It's Cold Outside, Cold Weather, Geographical Isolation, Internal Monologue, Oh, Snow, and ice, can't forget the ice, did I mention snow?, i'll stop now, ice ice baby, lots of snow, okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akonite/pseuds/Akonite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long and gruelling treck through snow after the destruction of Haven, leaves Aconite cold and seemingly alone waiting for death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Darkness, a familiar weight encompassing her. Dark, safe, secure. Her mind shielded from the horrors of Haven, from the lives lost. Here there was simply nothing, a weightlessness she had long since forgotten. A vast expanse of nothing. It did not beg of her, it expected nothing of her. She did not have to play the part of hero. Unconsciousness provided a temporary reprieve from the horrors she had faced, and from the twisted figure who would now haunt her nightmares - the Magister who would be God.

Something nagged at the female, begging her to return to the conscious world. No. She wasn't ready, it was too soon. The horrors she had seen, the raging inferno consuming everything in its path. The arch-demon black as night, just as twisted and disfigured as its master.

The more she acknowledged those events, the more her mind tried to force her back into consciousness. Her fingers twitched by her side, coldness seeping into her very bones. Her mind protested to the unwelcome intrusion, reaching for the familiar darkness that offered her sanctuary from the nightmare of reality. It was slipping away, forcing her back into her battered and bruised body. With a gasp the elf jerked upright, hands rising to cup her head. A wave of dizziness hit her, threatening to send her back under. The dull ache at the back of her head didn't exactly assuage the urge to not let herself slip back into blessed darkness.

Carefully, the Herald cracked her eyes open, thankful for the relative darkness of her surroundings. Realising she had fallen into some kind of cave system, her mind turned to the raw wound that was Haven. Had Cullen managed to get everyone to safety? Or had they all perished in the avalanche?  
“Creators, keep them safe.” Her voice sounded as brittle as the ice slicking the walls of the cavern she was in.  
She had to get moving, she had to find them. But what if she couldn't? No, Lavellan could not afford to think like that. Climbing to her feet with a low hiss of pain, Lavellan stumbled toward the only light source in the near distance.

By the time she reached the mouth of the caves, she was exhausted - both physically and mentally. Golden orbs were greeted with an endless blanket of white, stretching as far as the eye could see. Her gaze strayed up, the vast blanket of white seemingly at ease with the brooding grey and white clouds overhead. They brought with them the threat of more snow to come. Lavellan winced, it was bitterly cold and she was ill equipped to for an expedition in treacherous conditions. The alternative was to remain and freeze to death, hoping someone might stumble across her. There was little choice available so she chose to brave unknown conditions, reasoning she was more likely to stumble into another living soul than if she remained.

Desperation to know if anyone had survived lent her strength. Thoughts of _him_ keeping her upright. Unafraid and brazen, Lavellan wasted no time with the flirty comments, finding the Commander’s embarrassed hesitance endearing. The way the blush crept across his handsome visage, stumbling over his words as a hand nervously rose to rub the back of his neck. She needed to see him again, to lay all her cards on the table and let him know how she felt. She had never felt her mortality before the way she did now. Life truly was far too short. A fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things.

Teeth chattering, she wrapped her arms around herself, a vain attempt to retain some warmth. In hindsight, she realised she probably should have been dressed far warmer than she had been while in Haven. The winters were long and bitterly cold but she hadn't felt the icy touch of the wind whilst wandering around Haven. Too wrapped up figuring out lay of the land and attempting to garner a reputation for the fledgling Inquisition. Now she regretted her decision; icy fingers reaching beneath her clothing to stab at the warm flesh beneath. It stole the very breath from her lungs.

The Herald needed to keep moving, trudging through knee deep snow in some places and in others much deeper. She had no way to judge the passage of time, no way to know if she were any closer to civilisation. The elf gasped, fingers numb from the cold. Were they looking for her? Or did they believe her a lost cause having watched the complete annihilation of Haven? It was getting ever harder to place one foot before the other, when all she wanted to do was rest. She couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- it would have meant certain death. She had to remain strong and persevere. The people of Thedas needed a symbol of hope and she had unwittingly become that symbol. It unnerved her and forced her to wear the mask she carefully crafted for the foreseeable future. If Terys could see her now, she knew he would chide her for allowing herself to become involved. It wasn't that simple though, this affected every living being in Thedas and she was the only being who had the power to do something about it.

Trudging past a now disused fire, Lavellan forced her aching body to stop and inspect the remains. It had been some time since the embers had glowed red hot, warming those who stood basking in its heat. The surge of hope that she might be closer than anticipated died as quickly as it had bloomed. Swallowing hard, the elf flexed her fingers, attempting to regain a modicum of feeling. Hissing through her teeth, her brow crinkled in pain; little stabs of pain lanced through her extremities, it wasn't the sensation she was looking for but it was something. She pushed on, forcing her aching body to comply, just for a while longer. Most disturbing of all was the silence. It pressed down on her like leaded weight, almost deafening in its completeness. Not even the gentle call of birdsong broke the tense atmosphere. As silent as a tomb, save for the brittle crack of ice or the shifting of snow.

Thrice now the Herald had stumbled and fallen to her knees, head hung low in exhaustion. Darkness edged her vision, threatening to pull her under and oh, how she longed to heed the deadly siren’s call. It was foolish to even contemplate it - only death waited for her there. Then the winds had picked up, bringing with it icy flecks of snow that seemed to cut to the bone. Visibility further hindered she tried her best to shield her face from the chill bite of the wind and the brittle flecks that felt as if they were shredding her skin to ribbons. It was darker, too, unsure if it were merely the trick of the weather or if the passage of time had moved on so swiftly. She would not give up, ever the stubborn one. Death himself would have to come claim her and even then he would have to take her kicking and screaming with her very last breath.

“I'm sorry, Terys,” she whispered into the wind, hoping it might carry her words to him. “I should have heeded you and remained.” To admit such a thing - for her - was a moment of weakness and a weakness she would never allow another living soul to bear witness to. It was becoming harder to keep the despairing thoughts at bay. Her clan beyond her reach, Terys probably cursed her very name. As for those who were at Haven, they were probably dead - or worse - had given up on the woman they had named their hero. Then there was him, her Commander.

 _Cullen_ , she allowed herself to think his name. It wouldn't matter, she was as good as dead anyway. Even if she wasn't, how could she ever expect him to reciprocate any feelings she might harbour? Not only was she an elf, but the very thing that haunted his nightmares - a Mage. Sound drifted to her ears on the dead air, or so she thought. No longer sure if she were awake or dreaming. Perhaps a hallucination to help ease her into death. Yes, that seemed as good an explanation as any, especially with the bob of torchlight in the distance. No longer moving, not that she had noticed, nor had she noticed she had fallen to her knees. The darkness that edged her vision threatened to pull her under and she was more than happy to let it. Voices exploded around her as the darkness crept ever closer and then she was falling.

“Aconite!” The panicked voice that called her name, ever familiar, yet she couldn't think why.

The last of her coherency fled, golden orbs briefly meeting a pair of a similar shade to her own and then blessed darkness enshrouded her. She felt weightless and free, mind drifting on the sands of time. Coherency returned, albeit infrequently.

“Maker’s breath! She's alive!”  
“Thank the maker!” Another familiar voice.

Why couldn't she place those voices? Better yet, why couldn't she focus her thoughts? What was the smooth coldness pressed against her cheek? A moment of lucidity rose, Aconite’s body trembling with the cold. It went bone deep and it hurt. Her body instinctively sought a source of warmth, fingers pressed against warm flesh then curling into something soft. Some part of her realised it was the fur mantle often nestled around the Commander’s neck. It was with that thought she gratefully slipped back under. If she was to die, she could die happy in the knowledge she was cradled in the Commander's arms.


End file.
